Not Falling Apart
by thequillofdestiny
Summary: It's been seven long years since Kyle left South Park and he doesn't plan on ever going back. But when a chance encounter with old friends force him to return, it's not just the past he has to face, but the people he hurt as well. Main: Kyle x Kenny
1. Prologue: An Unexpected Guest

**Summary: **Kyle Broflovski hasn't stepped foot in South Park for seven years---and he doesn't plan on ever going back. But when a chance encounter with old friends force him to return, he's got a lot to deal with. Mostly explaining why he left his hometown for good . . . and why he broke one of his best friends' heart. Of course he doesn't plan on saying anything, that is until he realizes just how hard it is to be a martyr when the one you're protecting happens to be the only one who can get under your skin; and make you spill the truth.

**Pairings:** Kenny x Kyle, Pip x Damien, Cartman x Wendy, Stan x Heidi (I had to give him someone), Kenny x Gary (he's the mormon kid and that we'll be explained later), possible Christophe x Gregory (but I'll only hint at that), Clyde x Bebe, Craig x Tweek, Token x Lola (more on that later), and slight Red Goth x Curly Goth.

**Rated: **Teen for now, but I will probably have to change that as the story progresses into some darker moments.

**Author's Note:** Okay, this story has been fighting to be told for a very long time. I can't even begin to go into detail about how many times I'd listen to a song on the radio and think, "Wow, that would be perfect for Not Falling Apart." and then I'd be like, "Wait, when the hell did I give that idea a name?" (Yes, the title came from a Maroon 5 song; but that's another story) Soon enough I'd decided to type it. But it wasn't until I received a reply from SekritOMG regarding what I like to call her 'awesomeness' that I finally came to the decision that this was one story I wanted to publish. This story was actually born out of a really fucked up dream I had, but it evolved into something entirely different. Before I knew it I was researching Jewish philosophy and searching J.M. Barrie quotes (I have been on a Peter Pan fetish ever since I finally watched Finding Neverland) like mad. The result is this story. Now the only person I'm writing this for is myself, but if other people enjoy it then I guess that's just a bonus. Oh, and be warned: this prologue is sort of dry, but I needed to set a foundation for the rest of the story to be written upon, and to be honest, I myself have always wondered about Gregory and Christophe's past. So sit back, relax, and enjoy. Plus read the quote. The whole story revolves around it, and the idea of what we would and wouldn't do for love . . .

* * *

"_Love is not blind; it is an extra eye, which shows us what is most worthy of regard."_

--------------James Matthew Barrie

* * *

**Prologue: An Unexpected Guest**

_Seven Years Ago_

Christophe DeLorne and Gregory Thorne had shared a lot of things in their lifetime.

Both of their mothers had grown up together as childhood best friends, and it was in this mindset that they expected their children to follow suit. Needless to say neither of the boys disappointed them, becoming closer each year they spent together, albeit arguing about almost everything and anything. Their personalities clashed all the time as well. Gregory acted superior to everyone around him (especially Christophe), despite the fact that he was three months younger than all the boys in his age group. Christophe on the other hand tended to frighten the shit out of people and was left alone to brood with only Gregory by his side. Not many people could stand such a temperamental boy, and even Gregory sometimes left his friend alone if he became to moody.

When first grade came around the two 'gentlemen' were sent to the prestigious school of Yardale, located on the western-most outskirts of London. While the tuition might have been considered by many as to steep a price to pay, neither the Thrones nor the DeLornes even gave it a second glance. Gregory's parents were very well off, his mother worked for the Scotland Yard while his father was the most well-liked politician in the United Kingdom. Christophe's family on the other hand had acquired their money by more dubious means. Madame DeLorne spent her days as a con-woman, and his father skulked around as a hired mercenary. So while Gregory held the uppermost respect for the law, Christophe was constantly bending it. Yet while such a major difference in not only social class but morality as well would normally have ruined such a fine relationship, the two's friendship was only strengthened. Together they formed a partnership: Gregory found out about a case and did all the background work before handing it off to Christophe who did most of the action. Of course every now and then Gregory got his hands dirty, but what could he say? Christophe did have a tendency to rub off on people.

Everything seemed to be going perfectly, until third grade came around and all was shot to hell.

Unexpectedly Mr. Thorne resigned from office and both he and Mr. DeLorne ran away, deciding to pursue a relationship with each other instead of their wives. Each wife coped in their own respective way: Mrs. Thorne drank, while Mrs. DeLorne became religious---though Christophe would rather have had his mother do the former.

With the two mothers bitter and resentful, they decided to move to the red-neck hick town of South Park, Colorado to bitch to each other about their failed love lives. And it was in South Park, Colorado, that the duo met Kyle Broflovski.

Who just so now happened to be standing wild-eyed inside their apartment ten years later, at _six_ _am_.

The Brit and the Frenchman looked at each other curiously, before beckoning Kyle to sit down. He did so shakily, tightly clutching a suitcase with his right hand. Being that he was small and oftentimes mistaken for a girl---though he quickly corrected anyone who thought so rather violently---Kyle seemed even more diminutive than the last time they had spoken to him. The melodious ring to his voice was sickeningly hollow, his eyes held the most unsightly bags under them, and the teen appeared to have aged considerable. Refusing the offer of Earl Grey Tea (Gregory) or Scotch (Christophe), Kyle began to nervously look around the small apartment, muttering incoherently.

It was a tiny place, but the rent was cheap enough. The décor was horrible obviously; one half of the apartment was neat and prim while the other half looked as if it had been bombed, but it was a comforting place nonetheless. Both Gregory and Christophe were going off to college together that year, and they had decided to rent a place not far from the campus. Already they had corners of certain rooms stacked with Political Science and Co-vert Ops books, schedules taped up on the fridge, and even secret routes to the nearest library mapped out. So yes, the place was rather nice . . . but not many people knew where, well, where it _was_.

Needless to say the two men did not have many friends. Kyle was the closest thing they even had to a companion---and that was only because they had met him through many business arrangements since his younger brother was a mercenary after all. (The Jewish red-head of course had never took part in the actual 'mercenary' shit, but he had kept an eye out for his brother) Gregory couldn't even remember giving him their address, so as he sat down next to Christophe, he began to ponder why exactly Kyle was even there.

"Wat ze 'ell are you doing 'ere, Broflovski?" Christophe asked bluntly without any tact whatsoever.

Kyle sighed, and looked up to meet his friends' eyes. "I need a place to stay. Not permanently, just until the transfer to your college is complete and I can get my own dorm."

Gregory furrowed his brow, uncomprehending. "But I thought you were going to Colorado State with---"

"Don't! Just . . . please . . . don't say his name." he spoke softly, his eyes almost welling up with tears.

Christophe shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This was all Gregory's area of expertise; he himself was not good at the whole 'there, there' crap. Plus, he didn't like tears. He never really knew what to do when someone he cared for burst out sobbing, and things would become awkward really fast.

"Well I suppose you could stay here for a little bit, but perhaps you should tell us the full story. Lord knows we deserve that much." the blond reasoned idly, leaning back more comfortably in his winged leather chair.

"Faggoty bitch." Christophe muttered at the afore-mentioning of God, taking out a lighter and cigarette. Hell, he _needed _a cigarette.

" . . . The beginning. Yeah, I guess that's a good place to start." Kyle frowned, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. Finally a wane smile crossed his face, and he took a deep breath as he began to tell his tale.

"In the middle of last night, I packed my bags and hopped on the first flight that would lead me to your place. I've---I've left South Park." He then looked up, a wavering sadness edged with steel in his eyes. "And I'm _never_ going back."


	2. Chapter One: Discovered

**Rating: **Still Teen . . . for now. -.O" [I am a smiley face whore]

**Author's Note: **In the future I won't be updating this story so fast, however I just felt the urge to post chapter one seeing how this is where the story truly begins. But for those of you who only like short little tales, be warned; I don't know exactly how long this story is going to be, but it _will _be more than just thirteen chapters or so. I've decided upon a format where every three chapters (I'm not counting the prologue as a chapter) there is a flashback. These flashbacks are detrimental to the story, and the only flashback that will be skipped is the scene you all want to read: what happened to Kyle. But fear not, in due time it shall come to light. Oh, and special thanks to everyone who favorited/alerted but did not review. I'm surprised so many people are interested in this story.

_The Brat Prince-_I'm glad you like it so far. :D This means a lot to me, especially considering I am a big fan of yours. Unfortunately I don't plan to reveal the 'curious' part anytime soon, but there will be enough drama, angst, and action in this story that most people probably will think I have already revealed it. p:

_Lady Azura_-Aww, thank you. Well here you go, but my updates in the future will probably be every other week or so unless I get extremely motivated. Though I do have chapter two and part of chapter three already written, I just like to string people along. (coughsadistcough) On an added note, it took me several times for my computer to let me underline your name. xO I kept pressing save and it wouldn't publish your name underlined. Dumb old Mac OSX, I seriously need a new computer.

_Hot Monkey Brain_-Thanks! I love your stories too, I just am a very lazy reviewer. Meh, I've got to make up for all the chapters I missed during Anywhere Else But Here because it is awesome! PEOPLE WHO ARE READING THIS NOW SHOULD GO AND CHECK IT OUT. SAME GOES FOR The Brat Prince's STORIES. I'M SUPER SERIAL. I love Kenny x Kyle too, and I'm glad you enjoyed the secret routes. -shrugs- I dunno, I just always pictured Greg and Chris going off to college together and making secret plans because they don't want to deal with traffic. It's what I plan to do when I finally go away.

But anyway, I've stalled long enough. Here is the next chapter, and I hope you don't loose interest . . . although I think the fun/angst stuff comes with the next update.

* * *

**Chapter One: Discovered**

_Seven Years Later_

"You can kill people in ninety-nine different ways without weapons, six hundred and twelve with them, and yet you can't do a simple bow-tie." snorted an elegantly dressed man as he put the finishing touches on a faded garment around his best-friend's neck.

The friend---or rather giant, seeing how he was about 6"5" ---glared at his companion, but there was a hint of a smirk underneath it. His straight brown hair was gelled back (much to his displeasure), and for once his face was clean-shaven. Chocolate brown eyes narrowed down to playful slits, and he chuckled lightly. "At least I do not seet on my ass all day playing video games when I am supposed zo be working, Kyle."

Kyle, the instigator in question, felt a crimson blush creep up his neck. "Oh shut up _'Tophe_."

At once 'Tophe' growled. "My name iz Christophe, not some ridiculous variation of eet! I fucking 'ate you Broflovski."

"Yeah, yeah. Love you too, Chris." Kyle smirked, glancing up and down to survey his accomplishment. Once again it had been up to him to make Christophe look presentable since Gregory was always 'too busy' to do it himself. Of course Kyle knew this was a bunch of bullshit, but nonetheless he still helped Greg and Chris out anyway. It was the least he could do for them after everything they had done for him.

"Oh can you two please behave for just one moment? We're almost there, and the last thing we need is anyone entering the event with a black eye. Lord knows what Deputy Kirkland will do _this _time if one of you gets injured _again_." chided the blond man who was driving the vehicle. The three men were on their way to a work-related event, and they all knew that was indeed exactly the last thing they needed.

Tonight their sector of the CIA was throwing a party for a young couple who had saved their corporate asses. Apparently the CIA had done some 'shady' deals in the name of what was good for the country, and had gotten caught. No one had really wanted to represent them until finally a young protégée defense lawyer had agreed and gotten them out of the lawsuit without even a scolding, making her career sky-rocket even farther. The ironic bit of the whole deal was that no one outside of the incident knew exactly just _who_ this lawyer was (everything had been kept on the down low from the media) so tonight would be a very enthralling night indeed. Rumor had it however that her husband was a prosecutor, which Kyle mused was a very odd match for a couple. All the bickering they must do, he thought curiously.

Out of all of the occupants in the car, Kyle was the most anxious about their arrival. He had been chosen out of a pool of names to be the one to give the opening speech at the party---and as usual, he had no idea what he was going to say. One of the head officials had typed something up for him, but he wouldn't be able to read it until he actually got to the event, which made him very nervous indeed.

"Like you are so 'igh and mighty Gregory. Don't even try to pretend zat it wasn't you 'oo placed ze whoopie cushion on Roderick's desk." Christophe retorted.

Gregory's posture never changed, but the other two members could tell he was slightly embarrassed. Clearing his throat cooly, Gregory gave a cheerful grin towards Kyle. "How are you holding up? Nervous yet?"

"More annoyed. I mean, didn't I give the speech last time we had a big event?"

"_Oui_. Remember 'ow all ze other Forensic Pathologists were trying zo make you mess up by making funny faces?" the Frenchman answered.

"I had forgotten about that. You really did look funny up there."

Gregory and Christophe continued their chattering while Kyle tuned them out, instead choosing to look out his passenger window. Limp red curls fell softly around his forehead, and he clenched his eyes shut to keep the reflection staring back at him from changing into _his_.

It had been so many years since he'd last stepped foot in that god-forsaken place, and he knew he could never go back. He thought about all the people he'd hurt . . . about the one he'd hurt the most. And then he thought about the one who had hurt him, and began to whimper under his breath. Why couldn't he just forget about what had happened? Why couldn't his conscience just leave him alone for once like Chris' did? Greg would be laughing at him right now if he knew what he was thinking.

Laying back against the car door Kyle began to draw small designs on the frigid window pane, until his reflection became blurred and he could pretend that it'd never resembled anyone else at all.

* * *

For the past twenty years, the CIA had held all their sort-of-fun-and-yet-still-boring-parties at the Hotel DuBlanc. It was owned by a stereotypical French businessman (who pissed the hell out of Christophe), and had been serving all of the CIA's needs longer than any other business. Medium in size and shit in quality, it fulfilled the purpose of providing a cheap room which was all the leaders really wanted. Of course if you asked them they would deny this and complacently state all the great benefits and rich history of the place---though anybody with a decent-sized brain could see how much bullshit was compiled into that one comment.

The drive there was not actually all that far from the three men's dwellings, but traffic had made them late. The idea of traffic in Langley, Virginia under normal circumstances might have seemed like a preposterous idea, but that night apparently, 'God was out zo get zem.' So it was only after a meticulous forty-five minutes later that they reached their destination; tired, ragged, and more importantly---a half hour late.

"Sheet! Zis sucks! Why God? Can't you ever just give us a fucking break?" bemoaned Christophe as he slammed the car door shut. Gregory winced, horrified at the thought that his car could've been permanently damaged, but relaxed considerably when he realized it had not.

"Oh hush now, these things never start on time anyway. Besides, Kyle still doesn't need to go on for another ten minutes so we just made it." Gregory reasoned idly.

A warm June breeze reminded the three men to get going, and they hurried up quickly, chatting amiably along the way. Walking in they waved brief hellos to the employees they recognized and curt nods to the ones they did not. All in all it seemed to be another boring event . . . until Kyle stopped cold before the door that led into the party.

Right in front of the entrance stood a rather large sign listing the night's events. After scanning it over once more, his mind tried to reason he was probably mistaken, but if that was the case then why couldn't his heart stop hammering? His other two companions started sucking in their breaths as well, all to aware of what exactly the sign implicated:

_The CIA would like to personally welcome our_

_most esteemed guests of the evening: Wendy_

_Testaburger-Cartman, and her husband Eric._

_Many thanks to the Hotel DuBlanc for hosting_

_another extravaganza for us. None of this _

_would have been possible without you._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Deputy Director Kirkland_

"Sheet." the Frenchman muttered, fumbling around for his lighter. He only ever smoked nowadays when shit hit the fan. (Which was almost every other day) Kyle began panicking, quickly looking around for a route of escape, but a firm hand on the shoulder from Gregory stopped him.

"It's going to be okay."

Kyle looked at his friend incredulously, convinced the blond had lost it. "Are you NUTS?! Do you know what Cartman and Wendy will _do_ to me when they find me? I haven't had contact with anyone from South Park in seven years! Worst, out of all the people to find me, it had to be the two who got revenge on others by chopping up their parents into a chili and feeding it to them, or by paying Iraqis to blow them into the fucking sun!"

Raising one eyebrow, Gregory smiled thinly. "They'll only get the chance to have revenge on you if they can find you."

"Huh?"

"Obviously you can't leave the building---you're supposed to give a speech and the valets have already locked our car into the parking garage now that we've left. Plus, in order to get to the parking garage you'd have to go through the main room, which would mean you would be spotted by Deputy Kirkland and forced to meet your old acquaintances. So, the only reasonable choice of action would be to hide out until everyone else has left the parking garage and you can sneak out in secrecy. Chris and I can cover for you with the Deputy, saying you caught the stomach flu. And we can make sure to change the topic if anyone comes close to mentioning your name around Wendy and Cartman" Gregory explained, waving his hand as if the whole affair was nothing more than another last-minute case he had been assigned.

Silently Kyle thanked Moses for having such a level-headed companion like Gregory. It was what made Greg one of the top agents in his field: when shit happened he never lost his cool. Except when it came to Chris messing up his car. But that was another story.

"I guess I can hide out in the break room. No one's using it at this time of night." he mumbled, turning to leave. Then he paused, before biting his lip and facing his friends one last time before they had to go. "Thanks . . . and not just for this but . . . for everything. I---I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't had you guys when I did all those years ago."

Christophe snorted. "Yes, yes. We know. Gregory and I are 'eros. Now get out of 'ere Broflovski, unless you actually 'ave a secret desire zo get caught."

Knowing this was Chris' own special way of saying 'your welcome', Kyle smiled and nodded, and then turned away to begin the short walk to the hotel's break room. Normally anyone who wasn't hotel staff was banned from this room, but the Hotel DuBlanc had always made an exception for their best customers, including the CIA and any of its agents. Slowly he opened the door and darted inside, quickly shutting it behind him. Slinking down against the nearest wall, Kyle let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and let the memories from a not-so-distant past take him away.

* * *

Wendy Testaburger had refused to give up her last name.

What she would never admit to her husband was that it had less to do with the fact that she was a feminist, and everything to do with the way it sounded. Wendy Cartman? Ugh, no thanks.

But despite the way her 'supposed' last name was pronounced, Wendy was in fact deeply in love with Eric. Oh sure, they fought a lot. And yeah, they rarely saw eye to eye. Yet there was an undeniable passion between the two of them---and (as much as she hated to even think it) the make up sex was _explosive_.

That being said, she was finding herself having a hard time paying attention to whatever some Deputy guy was babbling when Eric kept rubbing her thigh with his warm hands under the table. She had to suppress the urge to moan out his name---but that was easier said than done. Wendy didn't know how much longer she could take this monotony when her body was all horny.

" . . . and so we would once again like to thank you for defending our company . . . Mrs. Testaburger, correct?"

"Hmm?" Wendy murmured absently, receiving a not-so-subtle jab in the shoulder from Eric. "Oh, yes! I go by my maiden name."

Eric shook his head in mock sadness. "My wife is, unfortunately, a feminist hippy bitch. But she is amazing in----"

"Okay, I think that's enough vodka for you tonight honey." Wendy hissed sweetly through clenched teeth, stamping hard on his foot underneath the table. She could almost see the smugness (and pain) radiating off his skin, and cursed herself for not trying to woo him before coming here. It was no secret between the two of them that Eric had not wanted to come to this party, which was why Wendy had had to threaten him with canceling his subscription to _Hitler Weekly_---a magazine for historical nerds about the latest WWII theories and the likes. So of course he came; but that didn't mean he wouldn't try to screw up her night of glory as much as possible.

Squirming uncomfortably, the Deputy Director nodded uncertainly. "Yes . . . well, I have to get going. The person who was supposed to give your welcoming speech sadly has come down with some sort of stomach virus. I have assigned a new speaker obviously, but they won't be ready for a little while. Please, just sit back, relax, why even mingle if you wish. Until then if you need me, I'll be over in that area."

Wendy nodded with a warm smile, but she could tell exactly what the look in the Deputy's eye meant, having experienced it thousands of times whenever Eric made someone uneasy: don't need me.

Once the Deputy was gone, she turned to glare at her husband only to find he wasn't there. All of the sudden she felt the curling tendrils of hot breath on her neck, and her heart rate increased incredibly.

_"Let's say you and me go find ourselves a place to settle down for a little while."_ Eric whispered seductively in my ear, but by then it was too late; she was long gone. Wendy needed sex. NOW.

Moaning softly, she allowed him to lead her out of the main room, hearing what seemed to be faint footsteps behind them, but she didn't care. A girlish giggle escaped her lips, and Wendy saw where they were heading: the broom closet. Feeling a frown form on her face, she began to do what she always did when she wanted something from Eric: nag.

"_Eric_, I don't _want_ to go to the broom closet. I'll get a black eye again, and I can't go to the wedding looking like I was sucker punched." she whined sweetly.

An annoyed huff escaped his lips, and Wendy could tell he wanted this as badly as she did. "God dammit woman! If we don't go to the broom closet, where else can we go?"

Thinking for a few seconds (knowing that was all he would give her) a bright idea suddenly entered her mind. "How about the break room? None of the staff will be in it at this time of night."

Grunting his approval, Eric changed his direction, and soon they were barging in to the dark room, fumbling around clumsily for the lights. Wendy finally found them and flipped them on, so that way they could get a bearing of their surroundings before starting anything.

And it was then that they saw him, wide-eyed against the wall, mouthing the word 'fuck'.

He had grown since the last time she had seen him---which was at Clyde's party all those years ago. The man's red curls were not quite so frizzy and more relaxed now around him, though in some places they were still rather tight. His attire was that of all the other agents Wendy had come across at the party, but the green tie he wore made him stand out prominently compared to all the other workmen. Yet the one thing that triggered her memory the most was his eyes: anyone who had known him from his younger days could always tell who he was just by looking at his exuberant irises that for all the world appeared to know something you didn't. Her last thought before blurting out his name was how much more dull they seemed compared to what she had remembered.

_"Kyle?!" _

_"Jew?!"_

_"Shit!"_

In a flash he had bolted, running as fast as his legs could carry him. And he was fast, but then again he had been the captain of the basketball team. But Wendy had been the fastest track runner for the girls, the girls' volleyball team MVP, and the head of the girls' lacrosse team, while her husband had been an excellent linebacker back in his days. So yeah, Kyle was fast, but combined, she and Eric were _faster_.

Soon enough they had cornered him, and he was trapped; a dead end. Wendy pursed her lips while Eric grabbed the surprised Jew by his arm, and spat. "What. the. fuck?! We . . . I . . . thought you had died or something you miserable Jew-rat!" And then he was giving him a hug, squeezing the air out of Kyle while muttering curses at his old friend's 'retarded Jew-ness'.

Suddenly Eric let go of him as if he had been burned. Kyle was shaking violently, his face pale as chalk. He was staring at the place where Eric had touched him in horror, giant tremors moving up and down his body. Worried, she tried to approach him slowly but he only fell down and shrunk back, looking for all the world like a small child who was about to be punished.

"Fucking sheet!"

Whirling around, Wendy noticed two other figures from her childhood past, but these two were less out of contact with her. Christophe stood there furiously while Gregory smoothly strode over to Kyle and kneeled down beside him, murmuring words she couldn't quite make out. He expertly rubbed the man's back and eventually Kyle's eyes re-focused and he stopped trembling, standing up quite embarrassed with help from his companion.

"Sorry about that." Gregory apologized swiftly. "He developed a very extreme case of claustrophobia a little while back and he hates being touched by people he doesn't see on a daily basis. But even then he prefers contact only when necessary. Nothing against you of course."

Narrowing her eyes, Wendy harrumphed. "Stay out of this Gregory, you don't---" And then it dawned on her, and her violet-blue orbs widened. "Wait, you _knew_ where Kyle was all this time?"

Raising an eyebrow bemusedly, Gregory nodded. "But of course. Naturally I would, seeing how Christophe, Kyle, and I all went to college and the same workplace together. In fact, we're all neighbors as well."

Sputtering, Eric looked flabbergasted. "But---you---the wedding invite---why?"

"Wedding?"

Everyone's eyes turned to Kyle's confused ones, his brow furrowing. "What wedding?"

Wendy bit her lip, unsure of how to phrase what she was about to say. "Kyle . . . didn't they tell you? Gregory and Christophe both got an invite . . . "

"But you and Cartman got married in the first week of summer seven years ago! I was there, remember?" Kyle replied frantically. "So what are you talking about?"

Even Eric seemed at a loss for words, while Christophe pulled out another cigarette and lit it. Gregory sighed angrily, glaring at her. "He wasn't supposed to find out."

"Find out what?! What haven't you told me?" demanded the fiery redhead.

Running his fingers through his wavy locks, Gregory sighed once more, and she felt her heart sink. Kyle honestly didn't know.

"Kyle . . . Stan's getting married . . . "

Happiness shone through Kyle's emerald eyes. "But that's wonderful! Why didn't you tell me before? I mean, I know I wouldn't have gone, but still---"

"Because eet ez a double wedding." Christophe muttered, sucking on his cancer stick. Wendy would have wrinkled her nose if she hadn't been having such an important conversation.

Now Kyle looked really dumbfounded. "Who else is getting married?"

Her heart breaking, Wendy looked at Kyle softly. Any previous amity she had felt before towards him for abandoning them was lost. By the look of resentment in Gregory's eyes, there was a very good reason why he hadn't told Kyle the following news.

Whispering, Wendy hid her face behind her raven black hair.

"Kenny."

And with that Kyle let out a choking gasp.


	3. Chapter Two: Guilt

**Disclaimer: **(I forgot. Bad author) I do not, and shall never own South Park. Take this as a blessing.

**Special Thanks:**

_rememberthename__-_I'm so sorry this is getting to you so late! By the time I got your review I had already posted chapter one. p; But anyway, thank you for the enthusiasm! It actually motivated me to get this up so soon. Meh, I actually had this all typed up but I'm a lazy poster.

_The Brat Prince-_Thank you for the compliment! And yes, I do tend to victimize Kyle. But if you feel bad for him now than when I post chapter three you'll probably feel awful. But as Wendy Mass (an author who writes for young teens but whom I still enjoy) once said, "A good story goes a little something like this: You take a boy and place him a tree, throw rocks at him, and then help him down. So I hope you'll continue to enjoy this story. :D

_Hot Monkey Brain-_Yes I totally agree: Gregory, Kyle, and Christophe + CIA = Win! :3 I can't help it, I love pompous dudes in suits. *drools* And thanks for the compliment about Cartman and Wendy. (lawls I've always wanted to write about a prosecutor and a defense attorney hooking up) For me they're the easiest people to write since unfortunately I have a guy like that in my life . . . except thankfully I don't love him . . . I mean he wants to blow up the moon. o.O And he used to respect Hitler. -twilight zone music begins- I can't say anything else though about your post because I won't allow myself to spoil anything. :x Well I hope you enjoy this chapter---because we now get to catch up with not only Kenny but Craig and Tweek as well!

* * *

**Chapter Two: Guilt**

_Blearily I opened my eyes, wincing inaudibly at the pounding in my head. Where the hell was I? Everything was groggy and I could only make out random splotches of color. Moaning I tried to sit up---a very bad move. The pain in my head intensified by tenfold, and I immediately laid back down. No, I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon._

_But this hangover was worth it. Images of the party came back to me in streaks of images, causing me to inwardly groan. Obviously I hadn't inherited my father's Irish drinking blood, because when he drank as much as I did last night, he wasn't even _close_ to having this much amount of pain._

_After ten minutes of just laying there, I rolled over to my side, recognizing that I was laying on Mr. and Mrs. Donovan's bed. Despite the headache I allowed myself a brief smile; Kyle really was the best boyfriend ever._

_I knew I had passed out last night upon him . . . had I been playing beer pong, or was it strip poker? Ugh, it was too early to go down memory lane. Yet I tried my hardest to see if I could remember Kyle dragging me up here, but it was no use. Clyde's summer bashes always left me in my most out-of-it states, and I knew my memory wasn't coming back anytime soon._

_I think I fell asleep, (though I couldn't be certain) but when I woke up again I could at least sit up. According to the window closest to me it was probably around midday---this was good news. Kyle usually awoke around this time, and that meant he could make me what made every single hangover worth it: a Broflovski Blitz. Now don't ask me how, but sometime around ninth grade Kyle had discovered some secret concoction of a slushie that, when drank, made any hangover more bearable. Course he never actually told us how to make it, but he made up for that fact by giving all of his friends---and boyfriend---one, leaving us guessing about what the fuck we were actually drinking. Not that we really cared. Anything was better than spending the whole day over a toilet seat vomiting up our innards._

_Looking around, Clyde's parents really did have a nice bedroom. Sure it was sort of plain, but it had that nice homey feel to it . . . something my house lacked incredibly. Shaking my head (which ended up earning myself another yelp of pain) I sat up properly and tried to find my missing other half._

_"Kyle!" I called out, failing miserably in my attempt to get out of bed. _

_Suddenly my hand swept against something and I felt the thin material slice through my skin. Allowing myself a 'shit' and a suck on the wound in question, I looked down only to find a piece of paper with my name written on it in a scrawl of neat print. A print I recognized right away as Kyle's._

_Grinning I picked it up, figuring it was just one of his 'I went out to the store to get some ingredients so don't go anywhere dumbass, notes'; but I was terribly wrong._

_I reread it again and again, not believing the words in front of me. No . . . he—he was joking. He couldn't be serious. And then as I felt my eyes brimming up with tears, another slip of paper slid out of the folded note._

_The recipe for making__ a Broflovski Blitz._

_Racking sobs now shuddered my body as I ran outside despite the state the hangover had left me in, not caring that all I had on me was some Blink-182 tee and boxers. As I stood there on the pavement outside the Donovan's house, hearing concerned folks calling my name, all I could think about was that the only boy I had ever loved was gone. And he was never coming back._

Kenny sat up abruptly, panting as sweat glistened on his forehead. Over and over he had to keep reminding himself it was just a dream---it wasn't happening again. Inside however, he could feel his heart breaking once more. His heart was the one thing Kenny would never understand: he was happily in a relationship with a great guy, about to get married, and yet the closer it got to his wedding the more his mind wandered to thoughts about a certain Jew.

Giving up on figuring himself out, Kenny stretched and removed himself from bed, smiling as he looked upon the sleeping figure of Gary Harrison. The guy may have no longer been Mormon but he still was the sweetest kid Kenny had ever met . . . and pretty good in bed as well.

It was a Friday and only four days until the wedding, which meant that today would be the last he'd be working as a guidance counselor for a while. Kenny loved his job because psychology had always fascinated him. As a child he would find himself pondering the great mysteries of the human mind, wondering what made people tick. But the best part of all about his job was that he got to help high schoolers who were on the brink of insanity . . . although most of them just came to him with relationship problems that he would unashamedly jack off to later.

Whistling, he walked to the high school (Gary was somewhat of an environmentalist meaning he was sadly lacking a car), and went about the town quite jovially. He waved nonchalantly to the odd passerby on the street, whom all seemed to know him. Eventually he came upon the pale school building which housed all three counties but was located in South Park. Strolling through the hallways he winked at the young teenagers every so often, always soliciting a blush, flirtatious smirk, or face palm of disgust. Mostly the latter, especially considering half the people he pretended to hit on were heterosexual males.

Gary worked at the high school too as an English teacher, but he had already taken off work. He enjoyed his job as well, yet not nearly as much as Kenny loved his. Work was the one place where he could focus on other people's problems instead of his own, and he was perfectly content with that arrangement.

Most of his morning was spent playing waste-paper basketball against his secretary, and the other half he dedicated to solving a fight between two boys who both were pining after the same girl. It was an unusually uneventful day, until one-thirty came around.

"Mr. McCormick."

Kenny lifted his head from his desk, deftly wiping the drool away from under his chin. Seeing who had entered his office he smiled brightly and ushered them in.

"Martha, why what a surprise! Now what issue seems to be afflicting you today?"

"I'm afraid I have acquired an acute case of agoraphobia."

Raising one eyebrow, Kenny smirked. "Oh by all means, please do tell."

It was like this everyday. Martha Suthers was a sophomore who hated gym with a passion the likes Kenny hadn't seen in years. So whenever eighth period hit (which just so happened to be her gym class) Martha would suddenly find herself suffering from some new mental disorder. And at one-thirty sharp, Kenny McCormick would find his favorite patient gliding into his office like she owned the place, ready to fabricate her new condition. He enjoyed the company and pretended to fall for her symptoms because of the entertainment it gave him, and honestly, he had hated gym too---at least 65% of his deaths had occurred there.

"You see," she explained forlornly, flipping her hair rather tiredly, "I can no longer find it within myself to go anywhere without getting all clammy and sweaty. Plus whenever the term 'market' is brought up, I immediately break out into short, panicky breaths that are really unbecoming on me. As such, gym would be an utter waste of my time, and I was hoping that during this period you could cure me of my illness?"

"Hmm, well I suppose I can_ try_, although so far my success rate with you is pretty high. But what happened to being suicidal?"

"Oh, that silly old thing. Turns out I was just upset about my latest labrador dying, no biggie." Martha replied airily.

Kenny chuckled. "Last time I heard, you didn't own a dog."

Martha grinned idly. "That's what _you_ think. Anyway, I actually do possess a real problem for you to solve today Mr. M. Now granted it might seem somewhat silly, but I really could use some advice." Her tone was all business now.

Intrigued despite himself, Kenny nodded encouragingly for her to go on.

"Well as you know, I have been dating Kurt Morris for a couple of months now, and just a week ago he declared he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. Three days later he dumped me in an e-mail saying he didn't want to be 'tied down'! I mean how presumptuous is this bastard, huh?! So I said---Mr. M, are you all right?"

_"You're the one Ken. I can't think of anyone else whom I'd rather spend the rest of my existence with. So I've decided to attend Colorado State with you, and don't you dare try and talk me out of it."_

_"But Ky, you've been accepted into more schools than times I've died! What the fuck are you thinking?"_

_"That's absurd Kenny, I've only been accepted into ten other schools."_

_"And you applied for eleven!"_

_"Look, I don't want a good education if I don't have you making some perverted remark behind my back. I can't picture my life without you Ken---and I don't want to ever have too. Promise me we'll stay together when we get there?"_

_"'Course Ky. I can't think of anything I'd rather do."_

"Mr. M! What's wrong?" Martha shrieked girlishly, her eyes wide with fright.

Kenny's whole body was shaking as he clutched his head, trying to drown out the voices. "Nothing." he finally managed, standing up unsteadily. "I'm just taking a sick day." And without another word he strode out of his own office, leaving a stunned Martha Suthers in his wake.

* * *

Cursing to himself, Kenny jogged down Main Street with a fervor he hadn't used in ages. Why did all this shit have to start happening to him now that he was finally happy? For Christ's sakes he was _over_ Kyle! But if that was the case, why couldn't he stop thinking about him?

Slowing down he noticed that he was passing by the Broflovski residence at that very moment. A lump rose in his throat, and as he turned to go he noticed a tall figure out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly he was accosted from behind and a laughing Canadian let go, a huge grin planted on his oval head.

"'Sup Kenny?" Ike asked, throwing an arm around the tired blond's neck.

Most people would have thought that Kenny and Ike would have avoided each other because of an awkward tension that was supposed to exist between them, but if anything they were like brothers. When Kyle had skipped town, he'd also stopped contact with his family; including his brother. In a way Kenny and Ike were in the same boat, and because of this knowledge they both held it had only strengthened their bond.

Chuckling, Kenny shoved him off. "Isn't the ring barer supposed to be _shorter _than the groom?"

Ike just smirked back. "Oh I'm sorry, I thought _you _were the bride, not Gary. Besides, I'm twenty years old, the only reason I'm your ring barer is because you scare little children."

Kenny rolled his eyes. "And the ever-so-famous Ike Broflovski smart-ass muscle is once again in use."

A frown formed itself on Ike's face. "Wise-ass sounds better."

"No smart-ass does."

"Wise-ass."

"Smart-ass."

"Wise-ass!"

"Smart-ass!"

"Oh god, not this again." a voice groaned, the figure pinching the bridge of his nose.

Immediately the two 'adults' rounded on the newcomer, whose house they just so happened to be standing in front of. Those two could walk pretty far when they got into a heated argument. Kenny turned to his best friend of twenty years, all traces of humor gone from his face. "Stan, be honest now: which sounds better, smart-ass, or wise-ass? I think we both know what the answer is."

"Yeah, wise-ass!"

"NO, it's smart-ass!"

"Wise-ass!"

"Smart---"

"You know which ones better? Dumb-ass. As in you two are acting like complete dumb-asses!" the raven-haired man groaned, rubbing his temples methodically. The whole reason he had invited the two 'mature' men over was so they could leave. Together they were supposed to go to the airport to pick up Cartman and Wendy, who had promised to come in time for the pre-wedding party that night. Now they were just waiting for Heidi.

Kenny and Ike smiled cheekily at each other before turning their attention back to their friend, Kenny's smirk only widening farther. "See Stan, this is why I'm marrying a guy: they don't take two decades to get dressed."

"Heidi isn't taking a long time because she can't decide on an outfit, she's taking forever because she isn't coming at all. There's been a change in plans: Cartman called and said that he and Wendy are taking a later flight because they're picking up a last minute 'surprise' for us. So you guys can just chill here until it's time for the party to start." Stan explained.

"That's cool . . . oh, and Stan?"

"Yes Kenny?'

"You do know that dumb is the opposite of smart, so technically you picked my answer."

Stan stared at Kenny in frustration. "Don't even think about it."

"Just because he said dumbass doesn't mean he was picking your answer!"

"Does so! Smart-ass!"

"Wise-ass!"

"Smart-ass!"

"Advil." Stan pleaded, slamming the door to his house shut behind him.

* * *

Wendy could feel the heat from the apartment stifling the room. The five of them had left the party right away and spent the night at Kyle's, though this had more to do with the fact that Wendy wanted to make sure the Jew didn't slip from beneath their grasp once more. However Kyle's apartment was quite small considering the gracious salary he was given, which made everything feel all the more stuffy and dreadful.

By now it was mid-day and Kyle had yet to comment on last night's events. Instead he caught them up to date on where he had been the past few years, and what he had done. Honestly Wendy was getting pretty tired of listening to him delay the conversation she'd been meaning to have with him ever since he first opened his apartment door, so when he began to talk about life at the C.I.A., she cut him off.

"Yes, that's all very nice, but it's not at all what Eric and I have come here to talk to you about _as you very well know_. Now what I would like to ask you is if you would be willing to come with us to the weddings."

Kyle's eyes hardened considerably on the word 'weddings', and he shook his head fervently. "Not in this lifetime. I thought it would be clear by now that I'm never going back to that hellhole of a town again."

Fury rose in her heart. "How _dare_ you talk about the hometown you used to love like that! South Park may not be Langley, but it sure as hell has more character. I don't understand why you wouldn't want to come back and support your two best friends!"

"Trust me Wendy, not everyone will be as happy to see me as you are, and I think you know exactly to whom I am referring." Kyle murmured, tracing patterns on the table they sat at. All five of them were crowded around the little kitchen piece of furniture with Gregory and Christophe flanking Kyle's sides, and she and Eric standing across from them. The way Kyle spoke that last sentence made her heart soften as she tried to muster a smile.

"Oh dear, I'm sure they're all over that little incident by now. Kenny holds no grudges."

A laugh issued out of the red-head's mouth. "Hmph, that's a riot. Really I don't blame him for hating me, or at the very least resenting me with every bone in his body. Who is he marrying anyway?"

"Stan's marrying Heidi." Gregory butted in quickly, sending a glare her way as if to dare her to speak the name of Kenny's fiancée. She supposed it would probably hurt Kyle to know who his former lover was tying the knot with, and she bit her lip in thought.

Kyle appeared delighted to say the least. "Why, that's wonderful! I always liked Heidi you know, she was such a decent young girl . . . if you don't factor in that one DUI." His smile was not what she remembered though, and she felt a great pain at having to look at something so fake-seeming.

"Okay, so maybe going because of Kenny isn't the best idea. But what about Stan? I'm sure he wouldn't mind two best men." Wendy pressed, her mouth drawn into a thin line.

Seething, Kyle once more shook his head. "I said _no_ Wendy."

Any patience she'd had left evaporated instantly. "This isn't optional Kyle Broflovski! Now you are going to that god damn wedding or I'll---"

"He doesn't have to come."

All eyes turned to Eric, who was smiling triumphantly. Wendy opened her mouth to protest, but he lifted a gentle hand to silence her. Distrust was evident in Kyle's expression as he narrowed his eyes towards his childhood foe. "Why are you sticking up for me?" he frowned, squinting his eyes as if that was all it took to see right through her husband's plan.

Eric smiled blithely, walking over to his wife. "It's a free country, _Kahl_, and you don't have to come. That's all there is to it---no catch. But," and his hazel eyes glistened on the but, "just because _you_ don't come doesn't mean _we_ aren't going to tell Stan everything that we know. And I don't know about you, but from what I've observed about Stan, well he's going to be much more hurt if he finds out you had a chance to come and declined. In fact, he'll probably blame himself, and then he'll fly all the way out here to ask you questions I bet you don't want to answer. Like why you really left South Park?" Kyle opened his mouth but shut it despondently. "Don't even give me that bullshit that you were 'tired of being chained down to this crazy life and just needed to be free', because I know you inside-out. I've spent years studying your behavior, trying to find out when you're lying, and trust me, that was the biggest half-ass excuse I have ever and will ever read."

Kyle looked over to Gregory and Christophe for help, but Gregory just shook his head much to her and Kyle's surprise. "You know . . . maybe what you really need to do is face your past. It could help with the you-know-what."

Mentally storing that last sentence in her brain, Wendy vowed to check up on that vague response later. The response was not vague to Kyle however, who's expression immediately darkened and he pouted considerably. "Fine. I'll go." he muttered, stalking off to go pack.

Joy surged through Wendy's heart, and she gave Eric a passionate kiss. "You know, I think I'm just now seeing why you win so many cases."

Eric smirked at her. "Nothing makes a person compromise like good old fashioned blackmail with a side helping of guilt."

* * *

Craig Tucker was many things, but patient was not one of them.

So when he arrived to his friend Stan's party, he could not help but roll his eyes at the idea that they couldn't begin opening gifts until fat ass and mega-bitch got down there.

Years ago many people would have found it strange to see Stan Marsh and Craig Tucker able to hold a civil conversation, but sometime around middle school the dynamics between them had changed. With all the Park County elementary schools converging into one, it made South Park (which was by far the smallest county) stick out like a sore thumb. And in order to survive the next six years, it was agreed upon that all South Park kids should stick together and get along reasonably well---with the exception of Cartman who couldn't not piss off the entire population of the human Earth.

The other thing that had helped Stan and Craig get closer was gayness. Now Stan was by no means homosexual in any way, but two---_one_, Craig corrected mentally---of his best friends were, which made Stan hold a whole new level of respect for him.

Yes, Craig Tucker, the boy who held the world record for most use out of his middle digit (in more ways than one), was in love with caffeine-addict, Tweek Tweak. Nobody laughed. Well, a few people had, but Craig had made sure that they were taken care of very early on. But the love between him and Tweek was real, and very unusual. For example the two of them were married, but it was done at some Las Vegas Casino by a guy who looked more like Michael Jackson than Elvis Presley, and _technically_ was not legal though neither of them cared. Both had signed a palimony agreement, and they were eventually going to have a real wedding---once Tweek conquered his fear of priests. (Hence why they were married by some Vegas Impersonator and wasted out of their minds throughout the whole ceremony)

"Craig---ack!---how much longer until those two get here?" Tweek asked, twitching worse than a vibrating massage chair at Lowes. Craig sighed and kissed Tweek deeply to try and get him to calm down, but if anything it only sped up his movement.

"I don't know and before you say it, no, our present will _not_ be lost. And if it is we can just give them both condoms."

"But we don't have condoms! Oh shit Craig, now what are we going to---"

"_You_ might not have condoms, but _I_ always make sure to carry some around." he stated, flashing Tweek a cheeky smile. Tweek just swatted at him playfully, but Craig could tell he was trying very hard not to blush.

As Craig was about to lean in for another make-out session, the doorbell rang, and he frowned quite annoyed. Before Heidi could go to open the door, Cartman, Wendy, Christophe, and Gregory entered, shutting it behind them. The chatter died down, as everyone raised their eyebrows in shock at the two unexpected guests.

"Hey guys, you made it!" Stan smiled cheerily, going over to give Cartman and Wendy quick hugs. He then turned to Christophe and Gregory to shake their hands politely. "I thought you two couldn't come."

"There was a change of plans. Speaking of which, I would like everyone's attention over hyah please!" fat ass snapped, causing Craig to flip him off. "Ey! I saw that Craig, you damn orthodontist nightmare and---eh! You just flipped me off again."

"Did not."

"Did so!"

"Did not."

"Did so!"

"Awww, for the love of Christ would you two just knock it off!" Stan moaned. Glaring, Craig flipped off a now very pissed off Cartman one last time before allowing the fat ass to speak again.

"So like I was saying before I was _so very rudely shown the bird_, I have a special gift for Stan, and Kenneh behind this vereh door." Craig refrained from rolling his eyes. While fatass rarely spoke with his accent anymore, he still reverted back to it whenever there was a scheme. "And believe me when I say it's better than any gift you guys could have gotten them." he gloated, rubbing his piggy hands together. Every single time he did that Craig imagined Scrooge rolling over in his grave.

"What is it?" Token called out.

There were choruses of 'yeahs' after that, and it took a few more minutes to calm everyone down. Once the room was silent again, Wendy spoke up. "Now we just want everyone to remain calm . . . okay? This 'present' is, well, pretty controversial, so if you could try to keep any negative opinions to yourself, that would be great." while she was speaking Wendy refused to meet Kenny's eye specifically, which caused Craig's interest to peak considerably.

Cartman cleared his throat. "May I now present to you the one and the only---"

Wendy opened the door.

"---Kyle Broflovski!"

Closing his eyes, Craig lamented the fact that nothing could ever just stay normal in South Park.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Cliffhanger! (avoids tomatoes that are pelted at her) I know, I hate them too. But reviews=motivation to finish chapter three! Thank you to all the other new people who alerted/faved as well, I'm glad you're enjoying this as much as I am. So there are just a few things I want to mention. A lot of the stuff I used in this chapter came from my own life. (Not Martha, she is just a one-time plot device I used to make poor Kenny reminisce about Kyle) The whole wise-ass vs. smart-ass thing comes from my friend Anne and myself. ( think smart-ass sounds better, she's wise-ass all the way) That makes Stan my friend Lily. Poor girl has to put up with our bullshit. Another thing from Anne was Scrooge rolling in his grave, since she's always making cracks about that except with Smokey the Bear whenever I do something incredibly stupid. [I am a fire hazard in the kitchen---I've left a gas stove on with the gas and thought that the smell was 'normal' and once tried to microwave tinfoil . . . -.-] Lastly Kenny walking to school was from Lily since her father works for the EPA and made her walk to CCD for years. Poor kid. I would die, exercise is not my strong point.

Enough with the credits though. The next chapter that is coming up involved several bits of research, and towards the end of it Kyle might seem a bit OOC, but I will explain why he's not when that comes. Basically what you can expect is a very uncomfortable confrontation, an emergency, and a secret that Kyle really didn't want to get out, but it's not the big one that you're all waiting for. (though I promise it will be very satisfactory for those of you who love plot twists) Okay, enough rambling, now go on and read some other stories.

**_I sincerely apologize if any of the characters sound like they are British. Blame SekritOMG. (wow a lot of my inspiration ends up coming from her and Foodstamp---read them!) I was just rereading her awesome story The Rectum is a Tomb that takes place in 1980's England, so some of the characters might sound a bit uptight. Mostly Martha, she's supposed to be Southern and she comes out European. Ah well, easy come, easy go. _**


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